In Her Way (Jenna Graves #11)

PROLOGUE

Each mile marker that Jenna drove past showed she was closer to a destination that had existed only in dreams until this morning. Twenty years of searching, of false leads and dashed hopes, and now …

“You okay?” Jake asked from the passenger seat.

Jenna nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She hadn’t slept more than two hours since closing their last case, and neither had Jake.

“It’s real this time,” she replied. “I know it sounds crazy, but when Frank’s grandmother came to me in that dream and showed me that crossroads, that cabin... it wasn’t like any other dream I’ve had. It was like standing there, Jake. I could smell the pine trees.”

Jake turned in his seat to face her better. “I don’t think it sounds crazy at all. Your dreams have led us to answers before.”

“But never directly to Piper.”

“There’s always a first time.”

She stole a glance at him, grateful for his presence. When she had called, Jake had simply grabbed his jacket, asking only “Where to?”

The GPS chirped, announcing their approach to Piney Ridge. The town was a small collection of buildings nestled in a valley among surrounding highlands. Early autumn sunlight slanted across weathered storefronts and neat bungalows with front porches where rocking chairs stood.

“We need to stop for directions,” Jenna decided, spotting a gas station at the edge of town. She pulled the car into the cracked concrete lot, parking beside a rusty pickup that had seen better decades.

“And coffee,” Jake added, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Lots of coffee.”

Inside, fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over aisles of snacks and automotive supplies. Behind the counter, a man in his sixties looked up from a dog-eared paperback, pushing wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose.

“Help you folks?” he asked, marking his place.

“We’re looking for a place,” Jenna said. “A cabin on a hill, probably off County Route 17. About three miles from here.”

The man’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Not many cabins out that way. Might be you’re looking for old Wendell’s place.” He leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “Mind if I ask what business brings you out to these parts?”

Jake stepped up beside Jenna.

“We’re trying to find someone who might be staying there,” Jenna replied, careful to keep her tone neutral. “A woman.”

Something flickered across the attendant’s face—recognition, maybe, or wariness. “You law enforcement?”

Although neither of them was in uniform, Jenna confirmed, “I’m Sheriff Graves from Genesius County. This is my deputy, Jake Hawkins. We’re not here on official business, though. It’s personal.”

The man studied them for a long moment, then nodded as if coming to a decision. “That’d be Wendell Gillis’s place you’re after. Lives up in the foothills. Keeps to himself mostly, except when he comes to town to sell his produce or stock up on supplies.”

“And the woman?” Jenna pressed. “We heard a woman might be staying with him.”

The attendant scratched his stubbled chin. “Been rumors about that for what, five years now? Folks say he’s got someone up there with him—a niece or housekeeper or something. Nobody seems to know much about her. Never comes into town, far as I know.”

“Has anyone spoken to her?” Jake asked.

"Not that I've heard. Wendell's private about his business.

Comes in every couple of weeks with the best tomatoes and squash you've ever tasted, buys his necessities, and heads back up the mountain.

Twice the usual amount these past few years, though, so someone's up there with him for sure.

Hasn't come around lately, though—not for a couple of months or more. Folks wonder if he's fallen ill."

Jenna felt a flutter of hope. “How do we get there?”

The man reached under the counter and produced a local map, yellowed at the edges. He spread it on the counter and traced a route with a weathered finger.

“You take Main Street through town, turn right at the old mill—can’t miss it, got a big water wheel—and follow that road till you hit County Route 17. Take that north about two and a half miles.”

He tapped a spot on the map. “There’s a crossroads there with signs pointing to Piney Ridge, Greenfield, and continuing on Route 17. Wendell’s place is up a dirt drive just past that crossroads, on your right. Sits on a hill overlooking the valley.”

The description matched her dream with such precision that Jenna’s breath caught. This was it.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for her wallet, but the man waved her off.

“No charge for directions. But if you see Wendell, tell him Floyd says hello and to bring more of those heirloom tomatoes next time he’s in town.”

Jenna just nodded, the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Jake stepped in smoothly, asking about coffee and paying for two large cups while Jenna retreated to collect herself.

Outside, the mountain air was sharp in her lungs as she leaned against the car, waiting for Jake.

She was close—so close to answers that had eluded her for half her life.

The mysterious woman living in seclusion with an elderly farmer.

.. could it really be Piper? And if it was, why had she never tried to come home?

Jake emerged from the store, balancing two steaming cups. “We’re almost there,” he said as he gave one to Jenna.

“I’m afraid, Jake. What if it’s her, but she doesn’t want to be found? What if it’s not her, and this is just another dead end?”

“Then we keep looking,” he replied without hesitation. “Together. Like always.”

The simplicity of his answer steadied her. Jenna took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the driver’s door.

“Let’s go find out,” she said, sliding behind the wheel.

The car wound higher into the foothills, each curve revealing vistas of undulating green peaks.

Jenna barely noticed the beauty around her, her focus narrowed to the road ahead.

Jake sat beside her in watchful silence, understanding that words had no place in the anticipation that filled the vehicle.

The coffee between them had gone cold, forgotten.

“There,” Jake said suddenly, pointing ahead. “The old mill.”

The structure loomed beside the road, its massive wooden water wheel frozen mid-rotation, a monument to a bygone era. Jenna turned right as the attendant had instructed, then the road narrowed and trees crowded closer.

“County Route 17,” Jake read from a weathered sign as they turned again. “Two and a half miles to the crossroads.”

Jenna nodded, her throat too tight for speech. The miles seemed to stretch. Then, without warning, the trees parted and the crossroads appeared before them.

She eased the car to a stop, her breath catching.

There it was, exactly as she had seen it in her dream—two roads intersecting beneath a clear blue sky, each direction marked by weathered but legible signs.

One pointed west toward “Piney Ridge – 3 miles,” another east toward “Greenfield – 7 miles.” The third aimed north, reading simply “County Route 17.”

“That’s it,” she whispered.

Jake squeezed her shoulder gently. “Look,” he said, gesturing through the windshield.

Jenna followed his gaze upward. Atop a nearby hill stood a small, rustic house—more cabin than proper home—its wooden exterior weathered silver by sun and seasons. Her vision hadn’t been a fantasy. It had been a map, leading her here.

“Let’s go,” she said, putting the car in motion again before doubt could take root.

A narrow dirt drive branched off to the right just past the crossroads, climbing the hill in a series of switchbacks. The vegetation grew less manicured as they ascended, wildflowers and tall grasses reclaiming the edges of the path.

The cabin revealed itself gradually as they rounded the final bend.

It was humble but well-maintained, with a small covered porch.

Beside it stood a weather-beaten barn, its doors hanging slightly open.

An ancient pickup truck rested nearby, dust coating its faded blue paint.

Beyond the structures, a vegetable garden spread in neat rows, still producing late summer bounty.

Jenna parked beside the truck, killing the engine. The sudden silence was broken only by the distant call of a bird.

“Ready?” Jake asked softly.

She nodded, though ready was the last thing she felt. They stepped out into the mountain air, crisp and clean with the scent of pine and earth.

Jenna’s legs felt insubstantial as she approached the cabin’s front door, each step requiring conscious effort. Jake positioned himself just behind her, a solid presence at her back.

The porch boards creaked beneath their weight. Jenna knocked, the sound sharp in the stillness. No response. She tried again, louder this time, calling out, “Hello? Anyone home?”

The silence stretched, unbroken. Jenna glanced at Jake, who nodded toward the door. She reached for the handle and found it unlocked. The door swung inward with a gentle push.

“Sheriff’s Department,” Jenna called out, stepping cautiously into the dimly lit interior. “Is anyone here?”

The front room was sparsely furnished but tidy—a worn sofa, a rocking chair, a bookshelf lined with well-thumbed volumes. A woodstove stood cold in one corner.

A soft sound drew her attention toward a hallway leading deeper into the cabin. She followed it, Jake close behind.

The hallway opened into a small bedroom where an elderly man lay in a narrow bed, blankets pulled to his chest despite the mild day.

His eyes fluttered open at the sound of their footsteps, rheumy and unfocused at first, then sharpening with sudden awareness as they settled on Jenna.

A smile transformed his gaunt face, joy illuminating features carved by time and hardship.

“You’ve come for Emma at last!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with effort. The words seemed to drain him, each syllable costing precious energy. “I can go now.”

Jenna stepped forward, heart racing. “Where is she? Where can I find … Emma?”

The old man—Wendell Gillis, she presumed—lifted a trembling hand, pointing toward what must be the back of the property. The effort seemed to exhaust him; his arm fell back to the blanket, his breathing growing more labored.

“Please,” Jenna urged, kneeling beside the bed.

“Is Emma... is her name really Piper Graves? Is she my sister?”

Wendell’s eyes held hers, filled with an understanding that transcended his failing strength, but no words came. His gaze shifted to the window, through which sunlight streamed in golden bars.

“Stay with him,” Jenna told Jake, already moving toward the door. “I’ll find her.”

She burst from the cabin’s back entrance, scanning the property. A narrow footpath wound away from the house, disappearing into a stand of pines. Following her instinct, Jenna took the path at a run, branches whipping past her face, her boots slipping on pine needles.

The trees thinned suddenly, revealing a rocky outcrop jutting over a cliff edge. And there—silhouetted against the wide blue sky—stood a woman, her back to Jenna, gazing out over the spectacular vista of rolling mountains and valleys spread below.

Jenna froze, her breath suspended in her lungs. The woman’s posture, the tilt of her head, the way the wind caught at her hair—it was like looking at a memory come to life.

“Piper?” she called softly.

The woman turned slowly, sunlight catching her profile. Jenna felt the world tilt. It was like looking in a mirror—the same green eyes, the same facial structure, though this woman was thinner, her features more weathered, her eyes holding shadows that spoke of hardships Jenna could only guess at.

The woman took a half step back, her hand rising as if to ward off an apparition.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“It’s me, Jenna. Your sister.” Tears blurred her vision, hot against her cheeks. “I’ve been looking for you for twenty years, Piper. Ever since you disappeared.”

“I’m not... My name is Emma. Emma Kirby.”

“No,” Jenna insisted gently, moving forward. “You’re Piper Graves. You’re my twin sister. You disappeared when we were sixteen. Don’t you remember me at all?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who Piper is. Or Jenna.” Her expression softened with compassion. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

Jenna reached out, unable to stop herself, and took the woman’s hand. The touch was electric—familiar yet strange. “Please, try to remember. We grew up in Trentville. Our parents are Margaret and Greg Graves.”

No spark of recognition lit those green eyes so like her own. “I’m sorry,” the woman repeated. “I truly don’t remember any of that.”

A shout from the direction of the cabin cut through the moment. Jake’s voice, urgent. “Jenna!”

Still holding the woman’s hand, Jenna turned back toward the path. “Come with me. Please.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the woman—Emma? Piper?—allowed herself to be led back toward the cabin. They emerged from the trees to find Jake standing on the back porch, his expression grim.

“He’s gone,” Jake said quietly as they approached. “Passed away just after you left.”

The woman beside Jenna made a choked sound and rushed past them both, through the door and to Wendell’s bedroom. Jenna and Jake followed, finding her kneeling beside the bed, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Wendell,” she whispered. “You can’t go. Not yet.”

Jenna stood in the doorway, feeling a strange numbness. She had found Piper, yet Piper was gone, replaced by a woman called Emma who mourned an old farmer and had no memory of the life they’d shared.

Jake’s hand found her shoulder, steady and warm. “Jenna?”

She met his concerned gaze, unable to articulate the tangled emotions.

She had found her sister only to discover that the reunion she’d imagined for twenty years would never come to pass.

And the one person who might have explained it all—who had recognized Jenna and expected her—lay beyond all questions.

“What now?” Jake asked softly.

Jenna looked at the woman weeping over Wendell’s body. Her twin. A stranger. Both at once.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “I really don’t know.”